


Spirits of the Station

by LiteratureWork



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Heavy - Freeform, Metro station - Freeform, Sad, Suicide Attempt, train
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 20:19:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15202673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiteratureWork/pseuds/LiteratureWork
Summary: Roy didn’t know what called him to the subway station that night. Maybe it was because he needed to catch the last train home. Maybe it was because he needed to catch something else. Modern AU.





	Spirits of the Station

**Author's Note:**

> I found remnants of this randomly saved to my computer. I don't know what I was going to do with it, probably leave it as a one shot or a two shot. I wasn't planning on finish it but thought it would be a story to put up here. It's just kind of keyboard jargon. idk.

Author: Literatureworks

Summary: Roy didn’t know what called him to the subway station that night. Maybe it was because he needed to catch the last train home. Maybe it was because he needed to catch something else. Modern AU.

 

**_Spirits of the Station_ **

 

We are all ghosts living in clothes of skin. I learned this a long time ago. And those days I do not care much to remember. I don't regret what I said or what I did, but somethings are better left in the past. Though my ghost still fights me, I am alive. That's what counts now isn't it? That's all they tell you. Life equals happiness, or so we are lead to believe. But some people fall harder than others and their ghosts demand to be released.

I had been working in my office late like always. Though my desk is always in tip top shape, with my pencils sharpened and lined on the edges and a golden name plate reading ‘Colonel Roy Mustang’ in black letters at the front, my paper work is less than orderly and I find myself wasting hours each haunting night completing it. Tedious work for the over active mind.

Like most people learn early on in their life, I learned how to turn my thoughts off ages ago. What used to be a array of bullet fire in my mind over in Ishval, now is just writing numbers down for the yearly budget. The claws of those memories still cling to my thoughts, but over the years I have anchored myself to the casual rhythm of writing and my ghost doesn’t wander as free as it used to.

The ink on the pages started to blur together and I rubbed my eyes deeply with the palms of my hands to straighten the letters back out. The method worked but as I resumed my writing a pulling sensation grabbed my stomach and turned my focus elsewhere. Whispers in my ears urged me to look at the clock to see that the hands read midnight. I choked on my next breath as I lurched out of my desk chair and grabbed my jacket. The metro was only running for a couple more trains. I would need to catch one of them if I didn’t want to find myself walking all of the way back home. As I ran out the door I didn’t know how lucky I was to choose that moment to look at the clock. I didn’t foresee what would actually occur when I finally caught the train I wanted. Looking back, I should have been more prepared.

The night air was brisk and stung my cheeks as I buried my face down into the knit scarf that my subordinates had given me for Christmas two years ago. It was ugly, but warm. I still have it to this day. I ran down the block to where the entrance to the station was located on the corner. I was extremely glad that my office was right near it or else I would be far later to work than I normally was on a daily basis. I let out a huff as I slowly descended the cold cement stairs being wary of the ice and grime. The station was a disgusting place to be normally but it was salvation for many other people hoping to get a lift or wait out the bustling winds. I saw many people sitting down amongst the cement floors of the entranceway near the ticket booths bundled in blankets. They wore layers of mismatched jackets to hide from the cold. Normally they paid people no mind as they walked through the station just like people tried their best to ignore the filth they were walking in. But that night was different. Very different.

“Do you have a change a one?” I heard a gruff man say. I turned to see a rather large man towering over me. The weather of life had frozen his face into a permanent scowl and had carved out a huge scarring X across his forehead. He looked like he was a murderer in his days but judging by the pile of used books for sale on the floor by his designated blanket, I had to guess that he was just a normal man, very down on his luck. The homeless man held out a dollar towards me roughly as if demanding the change. “I need to make a phone call. It is important,” was all that he said. I don’t know why I gave him the change for the call, but I did. And as quick as he came, the man was gone jogging up the steps to the closest phone booth. I didn’t question who he was calling this late. The only thing that ran through my mind was how important that call must have been for the man to leave his only belongings down on the station floor.   

I was sitting in the metro station waiting for the next train to take me home. It was late, so late that I was afraid that the trains would shut down for the evening before could even get to my stop. Though I was dazed, feeling the effect of several hours worth of coffee induced rushes, I had to admit, with a yawn, it wasn’t that bad. I usually had to fight the crowds to get on a car, elbowing my way through, but now the entire station was an empty barren waste land. The escalators continued to roll, carrying ghosts of people in and out of the station. Other than the light sound of the icy winter air blowing through the tunnels, the place was silent. Being out of the blizzarding weather and out of the city traffic, I was finally able to get some peace and quiet in my day, albeit in the strangest of places. Being in a dark subway station was the most calm I had all week. I guess that being down below the bustling of the normal world really gives a person some time to think. However, I wasn’t the only person who thought that.

It was eight minutes till the last train, though if there was a deviation I was unsure as I didn’t know whether the trains were ahead or behind schedule. In hindsight I should have prayed for the latter. It would have given us more time. But in the moment, the clock was ticking and I just needed to get home. I wasn't thinking. Either way, it was still a decent amount of time until the train rolled in when a lucid figure floated down the escalator stairs. Like me, they were bundled up in heavy winter clothes, attempting to fight the storm on the upper levels of the earth. A big obnoxiously scarf was wrapped around the man’s neck where he buried his wind beaten cheeks into the thick fabric. He looked to be a sick fellow. He was worn, icy, and pale, probably caused by having been outside in the cold far longer than what was recommended. He walked like he was sentenced to march with hallowed footsteps keeping time to a silent dirge. Frankly, if one were to put a word to him, he looked dead or at least on his way to the grave. With the manner he held himself, like the years of his life weighed on his shoulders, it was only when he sat down right next to me on the bench that I noticed he wasn’t even a man. I was expecting someone in their midlife crisis but it was just a kid, only bridging about 20 years of age which was far below my own years. Childishly young features and long blonde hair poked out from the bundles of wool the kid was wrapped in. There was not a wrinkle to his face nor even a smile. The kid just stat there on the subway station bench waiting for the last train to take him far away from the busy city until another day.

The clock ticked by at 6 minutes and I was relishing in the silence that had once again befallen us. The kid’s foot bounced anxiously against the stone floors keeping time with the seconds that slugged by until we could board. I tried not to pay too much attention to him. It was common for people to run late and have to take the last cars. But no matter how I tried to divert it, my attention drew ever closer to the kid sitting next to me. It was as if a beckoning cry from the spirits of the station were enticing me to engage the young man. I didn’t know what to say to make them stop. I was never good with conversation with strangers nor wanted to be the one to bother them so I stayed quiet. Don't get me wrong. I love conversation. I am just too afraid that what I have to say wouldn't be enough for them. So over the years I learned to love the silence more and more. However, I expect the same spirits were whispering in his ear as it was he who spoke first. The worried look on his face expressed that he had a lot to say, nothing light at that, and I had time to listen to him. 5 minutes time.

“Where are you going?” he asked nervously, a weak conversation starter but they all need to begin somehow and I am not much better.

“Epping, last stop on the line,” I mumbled motioning to the far map that not even a human with perfect vision could see from this distance. However most people who ride the metro already memorised the map and those who were new would soon learn. It was more common than the dictionary and easier to remember than paying your phone bill.

“Oh… well I hope you get there,” the kid replied tiredly, as if the wind was knocked out of him. There was a pause of silence as the icy wind shuttered through the tunnel system.

“You?” I asked trying to continue the his hard started conversation. He already put so much effort into starting it up, I couldn't let it fall into the depths of silence just yet.

“Oh… my last stop is this town-”

“Here? But you already are here. What are you doing in the tunnels then?”

“Trying to decide whether to continue on or not," he said half mindedly as if his thoughts were dragging him elsewhere.

"So you are travelling," I stated with obvious naivety to the spirits raking through the kid's mind. He shrugged, accepting my offer of an answer.

"I guess you could say that," he muttered.

"Where do you plan on going?"

"I… Nowhere really- my brother wanted to come here so I went along with him- he's gone though-"

"Was it everything he thought it would be?" I interrupted rudely. I knew I should have waited. That would have been the polite thing to do but the elderly grow a habit of hypocrisy. We do the talking.

"Not one bit," the kid stated flatly with no life behind his words. He seemed to have an emotional capacity of a corpse.There was a dull look in his eye, the one that I saw in everyone before, myself included. It was a ghost of a look that showed in men who were lost to the sickness of their minds. It is thought that only children get lost. I say it is more easy and common in the lives of men who know their ghosts more personally than the rest.

"It never is," I replied knowing the kid's disappointment all too well.

Silence devoured the conversation and I let it that time. The conversation had lived to its end and now it was time for the next form to take over. I looked up at the board and saw that there was only two minutes until the car pulled up. A groan escaped me as I pushed myself off of the bench and stretched out my tired legs. It was late and my body knew it. The kid stood up with me, his dull eyes seeing the time himself and we both made the march over towards the edge of the platform as was the ritual for all passengers. The closer I got to the tunnel opening, the colder the breeze became and the spirits of the station ran their fingers up my spine, giving me sudden chills. I shivered and glanced down the tunnel. One minute remaining.

There was no sign of the car and I almost thought that it was late, until I saw fires ignite from the depths of hell. Relief swam through me as I sighed, seeing the welcoming sign of the car. It is silly how comfortable you feel in your own condition. You can get so stuck in your own mission that you don't see that others' are being cattle prodded by their ghosts. As you are so grateful to be on course, others are steering off the road, blinded by demons in their path. Out of the corner of my eye I caught those demons taking the young man by the scarf and dragging him closer to the edge of the platform. His eyes were imprisoned by the spirits of the station, blank screens that just ticked by the time till his stop. Only he was boarding before I was.

"Kid," I called out to him, but it fell upon deaf ears as the rattling of the train pulled closer. The young man's toes teetered on the edge as the train bulleted into the station. The ghosts pushed his back egging him on, but my own were in a battle against them. In an instant my hand shot out beyond my own control and yanked the kid back by his scarf as the train hurtled past. The force I was commanded with was strong and I found myself and the young man on the floor of the platform as the train pulled to a stop in front of us.

There was a familiar ding as the doors opened welcoming the invisible people to enter and leave at their will. The chatter of the crowd filled my ears as sobs and mumbled nonsense. Broken from his trance, a falsified illusion set upon him by the ghosts of the station, I heard mutters of gratitude come out from the kid as he realized what he was doing. Broken whispers through his tears.

"I'm sorry. H-he's gone. He's gone. I'm sorry," the kid sobbed as I held him tightly in my cold arms. We all fight our own ghosts in our time but sometimes we don't know we are losing the battle until we already lost the war. Years ago I was lost too. I still get lost, but if I had lost, so would this kid. Many people who asked me what had happened would say I was brave to have done what I did. But looking back at when my hand reach out towards the lost soul bound within the skin of a child, I knew it wasn't bravery. It was my own ghosts remembering that they couldn't win this fight. Like hell they would let the kid's demons win theirs.

The police arrived amazingly fast. Apparently they received a distressing phone call about a kid in the Metro station. Two young officers checked the boy over and questioned me relentlessly about what had happened. I didn’t tell them much. There wasn’t much to tell. They sent me their gratitude before escorting the boy and myself onto the last train for the night.  

The trains only ran long enough to the hospital where I stopped with the kid. I didn't go home that night.


End file.
